


You Can Windsurf Into My Life

by aura218



Series: Get There if You Can [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Africa, Chaptered, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Multipart, Romance, Skype, doctors without borders, mozambique
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aura218/pseuds/aura218
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A late-night Skype call. John is in Mozambique with Doctors Without Borders and Sherlock is missing him at home. What's Sherlock going to do about it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Windsurf Into My Life

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this pic](http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m1oxoy1jlA1r4gtxco1_500.jpg) capped and posted by the highly useful [Sherlockstuff tumblr](http://sherlockstuff.tumblr.com/).

“When are you getting home?”

John was windblown and suntanned, thinner, more muscular. Mozambique has and hasn’t changed him.

“Doctors Without Borders is a ten month commitment, Sherlock. But the work we’re doing is amazing. They’ve put me in charge of the HIV pediatric clinic. It’s — it’s horrifying, and amazing, and I think i’ve become a new person twice over in as many weeks since I’ve been here.”

Sherlock smiled despite himself. The pads of his fingers touched the screen, John’s face, knowing John won’t see the silly gesture. It’s 3 am in London and he hadn’t been to bed, anticipating this call.

“I do hope you’re taking proper safety procedures.”

John pulled a face. “Of course I am.” He wasn’t. “I could say the same for you. Getting on well with the Yarders?”

Sherlock crossed his legs. “They’re excruciating, of course. I forgot how difficult I found them before — well. You seem to provide a buffering effect.”

“Are you saying you miss me?” John’s smile was crooked, teasing.

Sherlock scowled. “Please try not to be shot in a revolution or catch any incurable diseases.”

Someone spoke off-camera, and John turned out of shot. Sherlock craned, as if moving his body would allow him into the parts of John’s world he was now locked out of.

“Sorry, love, but I’ve got to go. Bit of a crisis arising.”

“Are you going to be all right?” Don’t go. Come home now.

John nodded, competent and already checked out of the conversation. Sherlock seethed with jealousy. 

“It’s fine, just a patient. I’ll call when — er, I’ll email, okay? Love you.”

“Love you, too. John?”

John paused, his hand hovering above the camera’s lens. “Yes?”

Sherlock sucked in his lip. “Be careful.”

John smiled. His whole bearing changed. Eyes crinkled at the corners, tension in his shoulders unclenched. “I miss you a hundred times a day, you know. I feel like a gyroscope missing its center of gravity. It’s — I mean, it’s amazing, being here, I’m incredibly grateful and amazed at the work I’m doing. I just … wish you were here at the end of the day. I wish you could see it all.”

Sherlock leaned forward, letting the sheet slip down his shoulders. “I need you too.”

John looked off camera again. “Yeah! Coming.” He turned back. “Look, I’ve really got to go. Few more months, yeah? Home by Christmas. Love you to a truly stupid degree.”

Sherlock smiled for John’s sake. “You too.” 

The connection blooped out.

Sherlock sat back. Thought. Picked up his phone. Scrolled though his recent texts until he found one from his brother, nagging him to do … something. Eat, sleep, respond to Parliament’s third inquest. Whatever.

He pressed reply.

Clearly the logical course of action was to convince the requisite agency that a consulting detective was a necessary attaché to a certain, specific medical compound in Mozambique.

 


End file.
